Bobby's Binder
by Fresh Horses
Summary: The task: 10 seasons worth of episode tags. The players: Goren, Eames and all things BA partnership. The result: introspective partners, strange humour and a lot of unnecessary analysis. My homage to the excellence that is L&O:CI. Read if you dare.
1. Undaunted Mettle  3x01

**Title: When The Time Comes**

**Spoilers: 3x01 - Undaunted Mettle  
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**Disclaimer: Don't own these two, this show, or that baby. Dick Wolf and Co. have all the rights. This is purely for fun.**

**A/N: I am obsessed with Law and Order: Criminal Intent. Bit of a late arrival to this fandom, I am only on Season 3 and loving every minute of it. I've managed to carefully avoid spoilers, so I'd love if in your reviews, you could avoid mention of later stuff. Depending on what kind of response this gets, I plan to do an Episode Tag for every single episode of these ten seasons. All mistakes are my own, and feedback is adored, positive or negative. Enjoy!**

**Alex Eames**: Well, I told him.  
><strong>Robert Goren<strong>: What'd he say?  
><strong>Alex Eames<strong>: He gave me a big hug. He said it was a great thing I was doing for my sister and he said when the time comes he'll hook you up with a temporary partner.  
><strong>Robert Goren<strong>: Oh no! I didn't even think of that. **(Suuuree, Bobby.) **What'd you say? **(Will you miss me?)**  
><strong>Alex Eames<strong>: I pity the fool. **(Alex Eames, I love you.)**  
><strong>James Deakins<strong>: How 'bout our gal, huh? Surrogate mom.

**Robert Goren: **...**  
><strong>

**Oh, Bobby. You are _terribly_ obvious. **

**Here's a ficlet based on his utter look of woe at that moment.**

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><p>Wasn't it funny how just one word could change everything?<p>

_Baby._

Eames was going to have a baby: her sister's baby. There was small comfort in that, he supposed. It wasn't as if the baby was hers. She was just carrying it, like you'd carry a shopping bag for an old lady, or lug a heavy box up a flight of stairs to your apartment. It was a small thing.

No, it wasn't. Eames, when he told her that, had shrugged off the selflessness of the act. She said she was tired of picking her sister up off the bathroom floor every time the test was negative. Said it broke her heart. In her head, it was just one more thing she could do to for family.

Typical Eames.

Why wasn't it so simple for him?

Honestly, Bobby was struggling to not look at her differently. Every time he spoke to Eames now, it felt like it wasn't just Eames he was talking to. It was Eames, uh, plus one. It was her, and it was this _thing_. This new life, which would bring infinite joy to complete strangers. That was good. This new life, which would remove Eames from his. That was bad.

Some days, he felt resentful. But then he would look at Eames. He would note the beginnings of that extra curve in her cheeks, observe that faraway look in her eye, and...he'd smile, just a little. He could say the baby wasn't part of Eames, that it belonged to this faceless, grateful sister. But he couldn't. It was her, and Bobby could never resent Eames. Those times, he was happy that this life has taken residence in her. It suited her. Who was he to complain?

He would need a name for it then, this life he had grown to accept. Nothing human: it would be too much a of shock when it was gone. _Foetus?_ Too technical. _Thing?_ Too mean. _Eames?_ What would Eames say? _Stop staring, Bobby. The bump won't explode or anything_. Eames...E-Eames, Little Eames, Eames Junior?

_Eames Junior._ He could live with that.

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><p>So now, every morning that he sweeps in from the wet or the cold, he is resolute. He takes off his coat calmly and with ease. He levers himself down into the chair opposite. He looks at her; keeps his face carefully blank as he extends his usual greeting.<p>

"M-Morning, Eames."

"Hey, Bobby. Cap wants us in the office in 5."

He nods, swallows hurriedly. He extends his first cautious greeting to that other part of her; the part he can't help but feel like he contends with. The part that will eventually take his partner away.

_Hello, Eames Junior. _

Then, and only then, can Bobby get to work.


	2. Best Defense 2x04

**Title: Were You Looking?**

**Spoilers: Tiny amounts of 2x04**

**Disclaimer: If I owned this show, would I be worried about Eames never coming back after the pregnancy thing? No. No, I would not. So don't sue.  
><strong>

**A/N: First off, thank you all so much for reading that first fic (you lurkers!), and especially to makeup addict004 for the wondrously kind review! So nice to a newbie! Anyway, this is me backtracking a bit before I watch the new eps on Monday. Based loosely on that bit in the same ep with the body language mimicry by Bobby. Honestly, I swear this show will be the death of me, with moments like that. Excellent episode over all, but this moment (and the fact it was never metioned afterward) was the winner for me!**

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><p>Robert Goren wasn't an attention seeker.<p>

Sure, he did things that got people's attention. At six foot four he was hard to miss. A stutter and an unshaven, boyishly handsome face did the rest. He knew how to use his physical presence to change people's perceptions of him; one well-placed stumble and the whole attitude of a witness changed. He could go from charming to hostile in seconds.

He enjoyed getting in people's faces, exposing the lies they clearly thought they hid well. They didn't know he could see them in every twitch of a muscle, the catch of a breath. It was so easy for him. He just pushed and pushed until he got the result that they wanted. Even if it meant destroying the other person involved in the process.

That part of himself he didn't like so much. The part that experienced a vicious pleasure in seeing a suspect broken, shaking in rage or grief or fear. He didn't like that part being brought into the light. He didn't want that bit to be out there. Too much potential damage.

As Eames so eloquently put it "_I don't do this job to get noticed_."  
>Did he?<p>

He knew that he didn't mind Eames' attention so much. Mainly because he didn't seem to get all that much of it.

In general, people regarded Robert Goren as one of two things: a genius, or a freak. And acted accordingly: either fawning all over him or running as fast as they could in the opposite direction.

But Eames? Eames treated him as, well, Bobby Goren.

Her look, her voice, her quiet presence beside him. These were constants he could rely on, and did, on a daily basis. It was part of the reason they worked so well together. But admiration, amazement, even simple attention? These were things it was harder to get from her.

It puzzled him.

He would pull off a particularly intense interrogation, and she would be waiting there with a coffee. No words, no congratulations or sympathy or unwanted questions. Just coffee.

She was never intimidated by how much he knew. His long-winded explanations were something she listened to intently, and often laughed at. He had the creeping suspicion from time to time that she had already figured it out, and that she was just waiting for this dog-and-pony show to run its course. A frightening thought.

She didn't think he was anything other than what he was: a detective.

So he found himself starting to act it up a little.

He'd catch her eye as they rang rings around a suspect, just to see if she if she was keeping tabs on him. Inevitably, she was. She would cock an eyebrow at him in that room that always smelled of sweat and cold and cleaning products, and she'd smile... a little.

He would bring her apple turnovers from that place she liked up from the Plaza, to surprise her.

He made his explanations just a teensy bit overblown, so that even Deakins would eye him speculatively over Eames' head as she bent to look at a file.

He still grinned at the thought of mimicking the body language of the husband that day of the interview about Bonham. Movement by movement, step by step, Bobby was barely aware of what the windbag was spouting as he glanced at Eames repeatedly. She kept a straight face with difficulty. He found himself supressing the rare urge to laugh as the interview ended. That was _fun_. He made a mental note to do it more often.

Robert Goren wasn't an attention seeker.

But when it came to his partner?

Well, that was a different story.

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><p><strong>AN: Since I've kind of been hanging around in Bobby's head for a while now, I'm going go try write Alex for a bit. She _is_ equally awesome, after all. Thanks for reading, and reviews are always welcome!**


	3. Graansha 2x21

**Title: Crowd Control**

**Spoilers: Only that last scene of "Graansha."**

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything. If I did, the show would still be on. So, yeah. Don't sue me and all that.**

**A/N: I wasn't too fond of this episode. Maybe that's because I'm Irish, and I'm familiar with all the Traveller stuff already. Or maybe I just didn't like having the stereotypes of red-haired kids and Irish names brought up again in American TV. DULL. Eh, it was fine, I guess. Anyway, this ep was fairly skimpy on the BA partnership, so I took that last scene where our two faced off against all dem pesky Oirish, and got inside Eames' head. Enjoy!**

**Ah, also, thanks for the favourites, reviews and all the conversation. I'm going to try to repsond to some of the comments made in reviews in the upcoming fics. I promise. Thanks for the feedback, keep doing that! Get back to you soon.**

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><p>Alex doesn't like the way the Travellers are looking at them.<p>

She hears the grating suspicion in their breathing as Bobby steps into the tent.

It's hot, and under the plastic it's muggy and damp.

She moves closer to Bobby.

_Just a typical day at the office._

Don't get her wrong, she wants to catch this guy: just as much, if not more, than her partner. She shares Bobby's killer instinct: that go-for-the-throat interrogation style - it can't be learned. She relishes too the exhausted elation that comes from snapping the cuffs around a murderer's wrists.

But did they really have to waltz into the poor girl's wake?

_This was her family, for crying out loud._

But there was no other way. She had known from the second she seen the closed, unresponsive looks of the Traveller community. They would use his own family against him. They would not tolerate the killing of one of their own. The true ghoul is the one right here in this tent, she reassures herself. She stares out at the tear-stained faces, feeling faintly ill. How could he toast the memory of his sister as though this were all just one unfortunate tragedy? Alex struggles to hide her disgust.

Bobby is badgering the brother now, shoving the bloody mess of Ann's autopsy pictures into the his face, trying to make him squirm. Very little could stop him at this stage. Alex eyes his broad shoulders speculatively, shifting footing behind him.

She has other things on her mind.

She had never seen their interrogations go wrong. Not once. Every time they cased a perp down the rabbit hole, Bobby had steered them right. The absolute faith she had in him was not instinctual; it was the product of dozens of interrogations, endless flashes of frankly brilliant insight, and countless late-night breakthroughs - where two figures bathed in lamplight were all that stood between innocent and guilty.

_It was experience._

Still, sometimes Bobby missed things. He went in blind, so sure it bordered on cockiness.

Take now, for instance.

Here they were, in a marquee full of Travellers, with nothing but these two guns if anything went wrong. Eames scopes the place out warily, noting the who the most obvious aggressors would be if this thing went south.

_Man, by the entrance. Twenty to thirty. Scowl, jacket. Bulky. Possible concealed weapon?_

_Female, two tables away. Staring at Bobby, eyes narrowed. Hands concealed._

_Older male, hat. West corner. Looks uncomfortable. On the balls of his feet. About to make a move?_

How many rounds would she get off before one of them got clipped? One? Two?

Bobby looks at her expectedly. She starts a little, then throws another jibe the brother's way.

Then she goes back to scanning the crowd.

Her eye is caught again and again by Fiona, the little Traveller in the centre of all this. She looks upset, glancing from her to Bobby, as though they were the ones to be feared.

_Outsiders._

She feels sympathy twist into a fist in her gut. She ignores it, tunes into the interrogation again. Bobby is crowding the brother. He looks afraid now, sweating openly. Alex moves in behind, pulse pounding behind her eyes. It's almost time.

Maybe they are to be feared, she thinks, keeping her eyes on the crowd.

Maybe they are the bad guys sometimes.

But outsiders or not, bad guys or not, she has her partner's back.

Everytime.

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><p><strong>AN: Phew! Hopefully I din't ruin her for everyone. Whatcha think, eh? Unread me forever? Either way, I'm sticking with Alex for the next fic too. She's so much more difficult to write than Bobby, and it challenges me. As always, read and review, all you lurkers! Thanks!**


	4. Gemini 3x02

**Title: Minty**

**Spoilers: For 3x01.**

**Disclaimer: Still worried. Still own nothing.**

**A/N: This is for _Gemini_. Not much happened in this (very good) episode, apart from the revelation that Bobby has a brother out there somewhere, lurking, waiting to appear as a guest character... -come on, come on- Was busy watching Eames like a hawk for the whole thing, and did pick up on Bobby's (concerned?) glances whenever she leant against anything. Which she did a few times, because she's all pregnant and stuff. And totally pulling it off, by the way. **

**So this is fluff. For makeup addict 004, who wanted to get Eames' POV on the whole pregnancy thing. This is the lighter side. I might get into the whole I'll miss Bobby/insecurity/am I coming back? angle later. Depends on where the show goes. THE EXCITEMENT!**

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><p>"T-The limb buds should start appearing soon. The heart, uh, it actually bulges out from the body for a short time, and the inner ear is f-forming this week too...before, uh..."<p>

_It should be illegal for Bobby to own a library card._

"...the genitals form. Then you can tell if-if it's a boy or a girl. Although...your sister might not want...and it _is_ difficult to know for definite..."

_God, she could really go for some mint ice-cream. _

"...s-still some people prefer to..."

_And she hated mint ice-cream._

"Eames?"

She blinked, and her partner re-focused.

He had moved from his desk. Perched on hers, he resembled nothing so much as an oversized bird, with his tilted head and sharp gaze boring into her. His eyes searched hers as he made Goren finger-paintings in the air. Seems he had been trying to get her attention for a some time now. He looked...concerned.

"Are you ok?"

She groaned inwardly. She wished he'd stop asking her that.

"I'm _fine_, Bobby."

Silence fell.

The truth of it was, this whole pregnancy thing was beginning to take its toll. She was tired _all the time_, her lower legs and ankles had swelled to what seemed like twice their normal size, and even _hearing_ the word "banana" was enough to make her want to gag. Couple that with her sister calling for updates every few hours and her partner casting worried glances at her every time she so much as leant on something – yes, Alex Eames was about ready to call it a day.

And now she had snapped at him.

Bobby Goren.

Who had only been trying to make her feel better.

(In his own socially challenged, absurdly sweet kind of way.)

She just didn't see how knowing these things could help. I mean, sure it was a great miracle of life and all that, but him telling her in vivid detail every little thing that was happening inside her? No, thanks. She didn't need to hear about fetal development at different stages. She didn't need to be told about its feet and its organs and its toenails ("d-did you know a foetus can grow nails as early as nine weeks?" over a _dead body_, no less). That was all the stuff her sister enjoyed. Deserved to enjoy. And she would, once the little one arrived. But until then, she didn't need Mr. Gray's Anatomy making her think about this kid any more than she should.

_He's only trying to help._ _He's worried about you._

_Limb buds, though? Really? _

Still, she feels bad.

She decides to make it up to him.

"You _can_ do one thing for me," she says. A look of surprise tells her she's on the right track. They do not normally ask things of each other.

"Sure."

He's straightened up now, hands in his pockets as he looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Get some mint ice cream with me?"

He pauses. Alex can see his brain connecting the dots.

_Cravings_.

His frown clears as his draws this conclusion, and the bustling office snaps back into place.

There was the smile.

"I-I can do that."

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><p><strong>AN: Ha! Poor Alex. She's just so stoic. I thought I'd give her a chance to vent.**

**-Squints- Is that a Deakins and Carver POV on the way? And maybe an actual (mini) case? Keep reviewing and I'll think about it. And thanks to all you beautiful people.**


	5. Suite Sorrow 2x12

**Title: Small Mercies**

**Spoilers: For Suite Sorrow -2x12.**

**Disclaimer: The usual. Mr. Wolf owns it. Etc.  
><strong>

**A/N: I remember thinking this episode was great. The BA interaction was funny, the case was interesting, and I got to see my first non-Nicole-Wallace-related Goren freak-out. (I have a feeling it won't be my last.) This fic is based on that polaroid Bobby snapped of himself and Eames at the restaurant.**** To say I freaked was an understatement. Ever wonder what happened to it? Here's my take.**

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><p><em>"I like these photos. Who took them?"<em>

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><p>The back of Bobby's head hit the door with a dull thud.<p>

_Thud._

Ah, there was the pain.

_Thud._

Familiar.

_Thud._

Focusing.

_Thud_.

Allowing him to think on what went wrong.

_Thud._

He should have known better.

_Thud._

What was he saying? He _knew_ better. Psychology 101: You don't force a long-term abuse victim to confront their tormenter. Especially not when they are as mentally fragile as Julie Turner. Her face as she stood over her father's body...she looked...completely broken. Lost. Deranged. Worst of all, there was no regret in her eyes. She wasn't sorry. Not at all.

_Thud._

Was it his fault?

_Thud._

He had left the Plaza without a word to anyone. Not to Carver, not to the Captain, and definitely not to Eames, who's wordless sympathy was the one thing he truly couldn't face at that moment. He had to be alone. The journey home he recalled in fragments: blurred faces and darkened buildings, the persistent tramp of his shoes on the sidewalk. He remembered getting to the door of his apartment before the shaking started. The keys jingling violently in his hand like a tiny set of Christmas bells. It took him four tries before he could even get them in the lock. Then it had gone black for a while.

_Thud._

When he came to, he was here.

_Thud._

He had wanted her to succeed so badly. He had _needed_ her to. To best her parents, rise above her circumstances, become the better person she could be when she finally realised that she didn't need them. He wanted her to be like him. He wanted her to be free.

_Thud_.

Now she would never be.

_Thud_.

Bobby squirmed: the lines of his coat were suddenly too confining. He fought the urge to take it off; childishly reluctant to uncurl from his position on the hallway floor. Knees drawn up to his chin, suit crumpled and creased, he felt like a kid again. The kid with the crazy mom and the deadbeat dad. Little Bobby Goren. Another nobody in a whole sea of nobodies.

_Thud_.

He paused.

He could feel something.

A tiny poke in the chest as he shifted position.

Moving his hand to his breast pocket, he withdrew a tiny square.

It was a picture.

He stared.

It was the one he had taken in the restaurant. Yes: that place with the wall of photos and the booths and the pretty waitresses. He remembered feeling faintly giddy as he took it: happy and reckless. It was one of the few times he felt confident that Eames was paying him no attention. He could risk a sign of affection. And for one brief second, he had it. He was like the other people in those pictures. He was "_having a good time_".

He wanted a picture of the two of them. He had wanted one for a while now. He didn't want to think why.

So, he took one.

His head stilled on its way back to the door.

But, really, the photo was terrible. Eames hadn't even been looking at the camera. He had been, and the result was striking: the picture revealed a tired-looking man with an intense gaze next to a woman with dark blonde hair and a crinkled forehead, mouth partially open as she started to form a question. Put their faces that close together and they looked just like any other ordinary couple.

Silence.

Then Bobby burst into laughter. It wasn't particularly joyful laughter, or even healthy-sounding, but it was laughter none the less. He clung to it as his balled-up form shook. _Any other ordinary couple_. Laughing until the tears rolled down his cheeks, Bobby's body slowly uncurled. He was just a normal guy again; albeit one who had chosen to sit on the floor with his coat on.

The pain dulled, and Bobby moved to get his cell.

_Better call Eames, let her know I got back safe._

The picture he returned to his pocket.

And there it stayed, resting right over his heart.

_Just in case._

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><p><em>AN: That was longer than expected. Anyway, next up will probably be Eames, then Deakins, then Carver, then Eames, then Bobby, then the new kid. Hmm. Who am I even kidding? I have no idea what I'm doing. Anyway, leave reviews. They're great, and I read them all. Thank you so much, people! Until tomorrow.  
><em>


	6. A Murderer Among Us  3x07

**Title: The Goren Effect**

**Spoilers: That one scene in 3x07 – "A Murderer Among Us". For some reason Universal skipped "Stray." Maybe the channel wants Eames back as much as me. I'll find it online. Give me time. **

**Disclaimer: Living in Bobby's head is beginning to mess with mine. So, no. I don't own anything. **

**A/N: Because as much as we all love Bobby, he is one screwed up guy. I mean **_**really**_**, swinging an iron bar at a suspect? Anyway, this is based on Eames' knowing look as Bishop elected to stay with Bobby, rather than accompany her to the DA's. Good ol' Eames. I miss her. (This is me knocking Bobby off his pedestal, by the way. I don't know why, I just feel like doing that today.)  
><strong>

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><p>After years of study, Alex Eames has formed a few theories of her own.<p>

They're just theories, mind you. They have none of the flare or elegance of Bobby's suppositions. Instead, they are shadowy and insubstantial - a bit like the person they apply to.

Yes, sad as it may seem, most of the theories Alex forms are about her partner.

_How pathetic can my life get?_

She has one particular favourite.

It seems to be popping up in her head a lot lately, particularly now that Bishop is on the scene.

She calls it "the Goren effect."

She has even divided it into phases.

**Phase One:** _Repulsion._ The whole thing makes no sense. He makes no sense. He's strange. He's not a _cop_ kind of cop. Something in you rebels against him. Cops are meant to be the things you pride yourself on. Be safe, certain, sure. He's none of those things. You're not sure if he has your back. You're not sure if he can even look after his own. It feels like a minder's job, this partnership, because half the time he wanders off on his own, and the other half you spend desperately trying to play catch-up. He cuts the legs out from under you in interrogations, makes a complete fool of himself and you at regular intervals, and you have to squash the urge to run away, because, honestly? You're beginning to think he might have something that works.

**Phase Two:** _Attraction._ It was that _pull_, Alex reasoned, as she made her way down to the DA's. That compulsive need to know why Bobby was frowning at something; why he had his head tilted just so. It could be something you think you've seen, or thought you had picked up on already, but you need to ask, to make sure. Most of time you're wrong, left there with a wondering expression on your face as he leaves to consult another person you've never heard of, another "buddy" you've never seen. Still, there's something lurking in him during interrogations, something dark, and you hate to admit it, but you're drawn to him a little bit. There are things you can't see unless you spend eighteen hours a day with the man.

**Phase Three: **_Stability._ He begins to notice you're there. He makes room for you in interrogations. You catch him looking at you for the confirmation of a hunch, and suddenly it's the two of you that thought of it, not just him. He makes eye contact. He smiles. He's physically closer to you when you walk, his long thread an even half-step behind yours. His "people" know you, some of them, at least. You see chinks in the armour of the "odd genius" image, and begin to think he is perhaps more human than he lets on. He asks how you are. He lets you on some things. He viciously keeps you out of others. You wonder about him. The desire for escape begins to lessen.

**Phase Four?**

Alex wasn't even sure she _wanted_ to know what that was.

It was funny, though.

Today, she saw the early signs of phase two in Bishop. She wanted to warn her to be careful, that once the effect took hold, it was awfully hard to not be changed by it. And you didn't always change in a good way. But that was just a theory. And anyway, who would believe her?

The kid inside her shifted.

Must be this pregnancy making her mind wander.

_Time to get back to work._

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><p><strong>AN: Phase Four: dependence. At least I think that's where this show is going to go. (Say nothing! Ha!) Sorry for the lack of the update yesterday, I had a serious case of writer's block. (Like you wouldn't believe.) I had trouble describing a window, for crying out loud. I'll stay on track from now on. I promise. Thanks for the brilliant reviews. I'll try to get to your fic requests soon – in the mean time, keep them coming.**


	7. One 1x01

**Title: Milkshake.**

**Spoilers: None.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**A/N: Here's a short, lighter ficlet. Set early BA partnership, and I'm gonna use it for...uh...1x01. Yeah. **_**One**_**. Back then, what I knew about our detectives amounted to two things: their names were Goren and Eames, and they worked Major Case. Thus, based on what little information I could glean from **_**One**_**, this was born.**

** Maybe Goren and Eames like wet days. If so, I apologise. **

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><p>It's long past lunch, and they're still in the diner.<p>

Two plates sit abandoned on the table. The only evidence of a meal (steak sub for him, bacon and cheese fries for her) are off-colour smears on the otherwise clean cutlery. Goren is toying with what remains of a milkshake. He passes the glass from one long-fingered hand to the other, an air of distraction in the movement. Eames' lunch-time coffee is cooling in the opposite corner. It demands attention, steaming faintly. She ignores it, and him.

She's busy watching the rain. It stains the glass, making the drama of downtown difficult to follow. She doesn't like this weather. It makes people stay indoors. Makes people pick fights. A wet day is fine until some poor schmuck is found at the wrong end of a kitchen knife because their other half couldn't get an evening jog in. People don't know how to handle themselves in the rain. That, and the fact that rain made her hair do strange things. She didn't like that either.

Her new partner is seated opposite, long legs scrunched up under the plastic.

He's quiet, this one. Clever too. (But not a clever as he thinks he is.)

She stifles a smile, refusing to break the long silence.

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><p>Goren is amused to find his new partner's feet barely graze the floor.<p>

She's staring out at the wet November day, her face intriguingly blank.

_Eames._ He tests the name out, rolling it around in his head, tasting it like you would the first sip of wine at a fancy restaurant. _Eames_.

She's not nervous. That surprises him.

The sound of rain frames the quiet between them; makes it painfully obvious. The noise of the city, muted by the thick panes of glass, is still audible as a sullen thrum at the edge of his senses. Was it always so loud in here? He thinks he can feel a headache coming on. He really doesn't like the rain. It does bad things to his head.

Eames says nothing.

He uses the window's reflection to get a closer look at her, trying to follow her eyes past the window: to see what has caught her attention. But her flickering gaze is too fast for him to follow, and he finds himself slightly embarrassed at the amount of attention he's giving her. Her behaviour is bordering on offensive, he thinks. Normally people are happy to strike up a conversation with him, to have him smile at them, laugh at his-

"Goren, eh?" she says, looking away from the window at last.

He twitches, visibly startled.

She laughs.

"So you like studying people, then. Working out how they think, how they move. Manipulative, maybe? You don't like liars. That much is obvious. Judging by the way you flirted with that witness earlier, you're a ladies' man - like to play the field. No wedding ring though, so you might be flaky when it comes to relationships. And you've been staring at me in the reflection of this window for the past ten minutes now, so I presume there's either something on my face or you don't have the courage to actually ask me what you are trying to work out just by looking. Which explains why people say you have social problems."

Goren blinks, once, twice.

"And there's milkshake on your face."

She laughs, and returns to staring out the window.

He smiles.

Decides he likes her.

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><p><strong>AN: These Eames POV's are becoming a bit of a bad habit.**

**We're getting Deakins next, because there had to have been some kind of moment where he thought "**_**uh-oh**_**, splitting up the dream team here...", before Bishop arrived.**


	8. Happy Family 3x09

**Title: The Third Party**

**Spoilers: Just for 3x01, bits of 3x08 - nothing major.**

**Disclaimer: EAMES IS BACK. Ahem. Sorry. I've just watched that episode. Expect a fic tomorrow. I own nothing.**

**A/N: This little Deakins POV is set around the time of "Happy Family", or maybe a bit later. The episode itself was unremarkable. One of the weaker ones in Series 3 - I suprised myself by having little-to-no interest in this case and/or the murderers. I was also extremely annoyed at the fact that the writers never bothered to give Bishop an actual personality. All of her lines in this episode were, well, a bit too _Eamesian_ for my taste. (Jeez show, way to make me hate the substitute.) Still, expect a Bishop POV in the future. I liked her in some of the other episodes. Sort of.**

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><p>James understands the way people work.<p>

No surprises there, really. He wasn't made captain based solely on how many perps he collared (although there had been quite a few in his time, he was proud to say). No, his strengths lay in different areas: early on in the job, he found he had an eye for the 'politics' of policing. The officials, the lawyers, the press – he could navigate those trickier situations better than most. He kept collateral damage to a minimum, a quality The Powers That Be always admired in law enforcement. He had tact, skill, patience – call it what you will, it helped him get where he is today. He could manage people. He understands them.

He understands Alex.

She's his kind of detective. No mess, no fuss, no back-talk. She gets the job done, a fact proven again and again by the high close rate her and her partner hold within Major Case. She has the deadpan humour of a classic cop, and the attitude to match. She doesn't throw fits, never gets personal and keeps her private life out of the office.

So he knows when she requests to speak with him in private, it's serious. He sees her standing in front of him now - still seeing that same short-haired young detective that came to interview years ago. He knows that, inside, she hasn't changed all that much. Her small figure has "matter-of-fact" written all over it. Alex won't dress it up, or go overboard explaining. She tells him about the surrogacy. She requests leave. She waits.

(He's proud of her. Proud, but not surprised. She's doing a wonderful thing.)

He hugs her, because that's about all he knows how to do.

It's letting her go that's the hard part.

Because, heaven help him, what was he going to do with Detective Goren?

When he thinks of the detective, James gets unsure. Parts of him desperately want to stop Alex from leaving. He feels like grabbing onto her coat the day she leaves One Police Plaza - dragging at her, pleading for her to stay-

What was he supposed to do, he feels like shouting at her retreating back.

(What am I supposed to do about him?)

Truth was, James wasn't sure he knew how Goren worked at all.

What little he did know of the detective - his genius, his irritability, his inability to hold on to a partner for more than a few weeks - he knew from files and forms.

The man himself – that was a different matter entirely. Even after years of working with him, James could have told you very little about him that you could not have found with a bit of digging and a good search engine.

But Alex is different. Alex gets him. James understands. They're partners, and that's how it works. But he can't help feel it's a bit different for Goren. Something more. But he's good at hiding it. So good that she doesn't see it (or doesn't want to). She doesn't see that he speaks to _her_, and that the rest of them are just privy to the exchange. It never feels like Goren needs James' approval.

But James knows he needs hers.

He remembers standing alongside Carver, Goren next to him, as they saw her off. Feeling the large shape of the man physically tremble beside him - something like a deep sigh shuddering through his tall frame before he left without a word to either of them.

James understands that, at least.

As cold as it is, James sometimes thinks that Eames is the only thing he can use to keep Goren in line. The only thing that will make him listen. Not that the detective is ever insubordinate - but he never seems all that bothered about chain of command either. Alex is one of the few things that can make the detective do as he's told. But she's more than just a "thing". She's a great cop, a valued detective, and the infamous Robert Goren's steadfast partner. She breaks Goren's madcap ellipses down into layman's terms, almost like a translator for a foreign diplomat. She's important.

And now that Alex is M.I.A., he's left to look at Goren's face every day - staring across at that empty desk, looking like someone had shot his dog. He comes in a little later every morning, and leaves earlier every day. He and Bishop work together, but he barely tolerates her. For him, it has become work. That's all.

Of course, none of this matters to him. As long as they get the job done, he can rest easy.

(After, they're just detectives.)

Detectives. Not his kids. Not his responsibility. He is not their minder. He has his own family to go home to at night, to try in the best way he can to get out of his mind the things he's seen that day.

Still, passing their twin desks makes him pause. Because Bobby has no proper family to go home to. He spends most of his time here, with Alex.

James knows how people work.

That's why, for his own sake, he hopes Alex gets back soon.

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><p><strong>AN: Holy Moly! Twenty reviews? All those alerts and favourites? You guys are amazing. I am truly honoured. Please keep it up. It helps me think there are real people out there somewhere. It makes me smile. I'll keep writing as long as you keep reviewing! Thanks people! (Bobby's up next, by the way.)  
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	9. Pas de Deux 3x13

**Title: Two to Tango**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. They would have danced.  
><strong>

**Spoilers: 3x13**

**A/N: Hi, people! This is for **_**Pas de Deux**_** - or the episode where it looked like our two detectives were going to dance with each other - for a minute at least. Did I sense a slight awkwardness in that scene – or was it just wishful thinking? I fear I read too much into this show. (Way too much.) Anyway, it was a really great episode. Enjoy!**

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><p>Alex was never going to dance with Detective Robert Goren.<p>

Ever.

Under no circumstances.

She meant it.

It was _never_ going to happen.

It would be completely unprofessional, for one. The cop part of her (she always imagines it cordoned off like a crime scene, complete with yellow tape and everything) would never allow it. It rebelled against the mere suggestion. She could hang on his arm as they played the couple. She could call him "honey" and pretend they were shopping for a home they didn't have together. She could manage that much. But dancing? With _him_? Out of the question. It was bad enough already. I mean, "the kids' room"? Where had that come from? Not the cop part; that much she knew. No, she could not dance with Bobby.

Then there was that.

That other thing.

The fact she repeated it to herself, ad nauseum, whenever she started to waver:

A dance with Bobby is never "just" a dance.

It was a confrontation. That much was obvious. Take this last case: you don't take a turn around the interrogation room with a murderer for the exercise.

_Most people don't do it at all._

But with Bobby, it was all about competition. Exposition. The push and pull of things – he could see you now, and your days were numbered. He reveled in that sort of thing. Amateur dramatics - it got results. But that didn't mean she wanted to be on the recieving end - to be the one being confronted. She was doing fine, thank you very much. She could live without the psychoanalysis from Wonder Boy.

It was seduction. She knew that too. The way he had pulled Timmons to him, exuding everything the profile demanded he be to attract her – confident, assertive, charming...it unnerved her, to say the least. She was never quiet sure of what version of Bobby she was looking at. Which was the real one. He was just so good at it. _Dancing, I mean._ She had been unable to tear her eyes from him. She certainly didn't want that.

It was comfort. She remembers leaning against the bar of that nightclub, watching as he lead the distraught friend of that poor girl around the floor. He held her as one would a piece of fine china - gingerly and with great care, for fear she might break apart in her hands. His quiet voice, barely audible over the thick dance music. He was new to her then, or at least relatively so. She remembered being oddly...charmed. She'd heard of good cop, bad cop - but the good cop as the dancing cop? It was a new one on her. It worked, though. Alex knew that much from Vice. _Keep them calm, be reassuring, firm._ She seemed to relax in his arms - one thing Alex could never afford to do when he was around. You relax, you get lazy. You get lazy, you get left behind.

And that was her job these days - keeping up with him.

But most of all, it was joy. On her first day back on the job, she'd seen it. It was in the steps he took around her; arms going a mile a minute to that stupid salsa music. She couldn't help but laugh. His mimicry of the dancers at the studio, throwing weird shapes in a stranger's office. He was happy. He was happy, and the whole world seemed brighter for it. His happiness was an open invitation. There in the eye contact, the closeness..._come dance, Eames_. She didn't respond to it. She didn't want to know; she couldn't be solely responsible for his happiness. It was too much.

And there was the real reason.

It was all too much.

These things he showed her: they were key pieces of Robert Goren - the man. Not her partner. Not the person she sat across from at work every day. Robert. It was Robert, and if she danced with him she would be Alex. Not his partner. Not his friend. No, she would be something infinitely more dangerous – she would be a woman. She would be herself, and he would be...Robert – and heaven alone knew where that might lead.

She wasn't going there. No way.

Alex was _never_ going to dance with Detective Robert Goren.

No matter how much she might want to.

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><p><strong>AN: Ah, also, in response to dh2930's question, I absolutely do requests. You'll have to forgive me, though – I've only seen up to 3x13, so I can't write on what I haven't watched. Everything before that though– it's a free-for-all! Go for it! Thanks for reading. **

**(That Bobby POV is ending up longer than I thought. Bear with me. F.P.S. is on its way.)**


	10. FPS 3x10

**Title: Pregnant Pauses**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. They're doing a very good job, though, aren't they?**

**Spoilers: F.P.S. – 3x10. Just for the last minute or so.  
><strong>

**A/N: The 10****th**** chapter! Hooray! To all those who've stuck with this, I thank you – in honour of your steadfastness I present to you the longest chapter yet. This kind of stands as a story in its own right, but I'm going to use it for F.P.S. Oh, F.P.S, shall I list the many ways in which I love thee? I can't. I'd have to write an essay on it, and no-one wants to read that. Instead, here's our boy Bobby at the hospital. Enjoy!**

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><p>Bobby flips his cell phone open – then closed.<p>

Open – closed.

He's standing in an elevator, on his way up to the maternity ward.

At first, he had fully intended on taking Bishop's advice. Phone in hand as he stepped out of the courthouse, his fingers were already finding Eames' number on his speed-dial. Until he realised he was moving towards the car. Until he got in, and found himself here. It seemed his own body had betrayed him.

He had tried to reason it away as he slunk into the shadow of the hospital. Even if he did call her, what would he say? Congratulations on the baby? Glad it was a healthy delivery? All the best for the future?

_(Please come back soon because nothing seems right without you?)_

_Definitely not that._

No, better just to see her.

There's a young couple in the elevator with him. They're missing the obligatory infant, and he wonders why. The woman looks tired, the man keeping a steadying arm around her shoulders as the lights announce floor after floor. He wonders what they are doing here.

He wonders what _he's_ doing here.

A nurse in pink scrubs mans the desk on the way in. He straightens as he approaches her, abruptly self-conscious and unsure as to why. She looks at him, a trace of annoyance on her face. _First things first, I suppose._ "Uh...I'm looking for a p-patient. E-Alex-Alexandra Eames? She was brought in earlier today?"

He fixes a smile as she clicks industriously on the computer in front of her. Seconds pass. Bobby can feel himself starting to sweat. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea.

_Too late._ She alights on a name and pauses, eyeing him speculatively.

"And are you a relative?"

A pause as Bobby considers what to say.

"Uh...no. I'm her" _–friend, colleage – something that doesn't imply intimacy-_ "partner."

He sees a misplaced understanding in her eyes.

_Great. _

"Room 23. Just down the hall, to your left."

He thanks her, moving as quickly as possible through the ward. It smells of cleaning products and old carpet. The crying of new lungs forms a shrill counterpoint to the low hum of machinery. It distracts him, banishing a little the unease he has always felt in hospitals. The floor squeaks beneath his shoes. His mouth is dry. He swallows. _Don't be silly, Bobby. It's maternity, not psych_.

He pauses in front of the door. Her door. Suddenly, he can't breathe - for completely different reasons.

_Come on, Bobby. You know the drill. Flat palm, curled fingers, push._

He steps slowly into the hospital room.

She's lying there, eyes half open and face flushed, a lingering smile of what looks like triumph about her face. She's breathing deeply, her hair is stuck to her forehead with perspiration, and she looks...

_Beautiful_.

He squashes the word, fast.

She sees him.

"Bobby..." her voice is weak, but has all the markers of a very happy Eames – lightened tone, higher pitch, softer words.

_Ah_.

There: a loosening in his chest, an expansion of the throat, a lightness in his shoulders...it was almost medicinal, what she did for him. He pauses, basking in it. No more panic. He breathes in, deep and strong, for what feels like the first time all day.

"Hey," he says.

He doesn't know how to say anything else.

Eames, used to such long pauses, notices nothing unusual.

"H-How are you feeling?"

She huffs out a laugh. "Honestly? Like I just got kicked in the head. My sister is with the kid as we speak. She was worse than the baby - crying and cooing all over the place." She grins at him.

"Well, he's their problem now."

"H-he?"

"Yeah," she says, rolling her eyes. "Guess the kid kicking me upside the lungs for months was a guy. Figures."

She pauses, and he finds himself noting with concern the foggy look in her eyes. She's having trouble focusing on him. He has decency to feel a little ashamed. _She must be exhausted_. He should have called. He shouldn't be bothering her now, not today of all days. Not when she has already done so much.

But he can't help it. This need, "juvenile", "primal", call it what you will, is so strong in him that it overtakes even the most basic forms of politeness. He needed to know she was here. He needed to see her.

And now that he has, he should really leave. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do.

Yet when she gestures feebly at the chair next to the bed, he takes it.

He can't help himself.

"How did the case go?"

He shrugs, tries to keep it simple. Downplay the fact that it was way too close to home. "We got the guy. He was clever. B-Brought up Wallace..."

She looks at him. She must see something there, because she reaches out her hand to touch his shoulder, once, briefly. "I'm sorry, Bobby." A thought strikes her, and she levers herself up from the pillow to fix him with tired eyes.

"Did you fill Bishop in?"

He feels another stab of guilt as silence stretches between them.

Eames glares at him. "You-" the sentence is interrupted by a huge yawn "-need to give her a chance, Bobby. She's good, you know. Clever. Brave..."

"I know", he says, hoping to quieten her.

She nods, leaning back against the pillows as her eyes slip close.

He finally says what he's been skirting around; what it has taken her leaving him to realise.

"But she's just not you."

_Too late._ _Again_. Eames is already asleep.

Bobby smiles; makes himself comfortable for the evening. Hunkering down awkwardly in the creaking chair, he laughs at his own discomfort. He's slept in worse places.

The room slowly fills with the sound of Eames' quiet breathing, and Bobby has to fight the urge to reach out and hold her hand.

_Being here is enough._

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading.**


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